Page 45 of Dear Love, I Hate You (Easton High)

- Zac

* * *

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I bug Dia as we march down the hall toward our last class of the day. I hate gym class. Our PE teacher, Mr. Emery, is far from a delight, to put it mildly.

He’s that teacher who tells girls their killer period cramps aren’t a big deal and to suck it up. Xavier deserves a fucking award for dealing with this man every day.

“Dia?” I urge, irritated by her lack of a response.

“What?” she drones, eyes locked on her phone. Heaven only knows which of her rebound guys she’s texting this time.

“Are we ever going to talk about your breakup?”

“Can’t break up with someone you never dated.” She misses the point by a mile.

She’s been like this since last Friday.

Closed off, dismissive.

Dia’s locked herself in a tower of denial, where no soul can reach her. She didn’t utter a word about Finn after I nearly ran him over with my car. She didn’t vent, didn’t pour her heart out. She just cried in my arms. All night. Sobbed until she had no strength or tears left in her.

She strictly refuses to tell me anything except the bare minimum, that Finn fucked some bitch. She won’t tell me who, or when it happened, or how she found out.

All she said is she needs to move on.

So far, Dia’s been doing a pretty solid job of pretending like she’s fine, but you know who can’t pretend for shit?

Finley Richards.

He showed up at Dia’s house at 7:00 a.m. on Saturday morning and pulled us out of bed, begging her to hear him out. It took both Dia’s dads and her older brother, Jesse, to get him off the property. I wish I was kidding.

He hasn’t been at school since.

That’s how bad this is.

I glance at Dia, who’s immersed in her text conversation with her boy toy of the day, and grab my own phone. I scroll through my contact list and tap the number I added five days ago.

Zac’s.

I’ve been staring at these damn digits all week, trying to gather the courage to text him. But I can’t bring myself to do it. There’s something rather… personal about texting someone.

Something more dangerous.

The risk was manageable when we were just writing letters, but giving him my number? Isn’t that just begging him to try and uncover my identity? What if he asks around?

Many people in this school have my number. Dia, Lacey, even Finn, just to name a few. Zac could easily trace it back to me. With that said, he did promise that he’d never try to find me.

The question is…

Do I trust him?

“Who’s Z?” Dia’s voice startles me.

“What? Oh, it’s nothing. I mean, h-he’s no one.” I put my phone away before she can blink.

Dia’s eyes widen. “He?”

Shit.